[Intro: Cal Luv]
Yo check it out
Today we're here with basketball star Rasheed Wallace
Yo what up kid?
From the... what, what, what team is that you play for again?
The Bullets, man
Yea righht, right
So tell me Rasheed you know what I'm sayin'
This hip-hop thang and everything going on
Tell me, I mean, what, what's yo' flavor?
Yo check it out kid, I only like real hip-hop man
The real shit
You know what I'm sayin', Redman, Wu-Tang, you know what I'm sayin'
I don't fool wit the Goodie Mob's
And I especially don't fool wit them E-40's.)

[Verse 1: E-40]
N***a what the fuck they hit for? N***a let's shoot fins
You got all the bread n***a, put up yo' Benz
Nah-nah, can't do that - Why not? Old school trophy
Something I done worked too hard for, n***a quote me
Yo' swole bank roll done turned into lil old anorexin
Get ready to pay the piper, Hully Gully pee-wee no catchin'
Who got change for this brand new hundred?
Straight outta welfare
When I break you n***as I'ma have enough money, to buy Fairfield
Spend about a half a hundred thousand
Boost up my coins
Proceed to spit more Superfly
Than Donald Goines
This game is so damn hemorrhaging
That I'm delivering
These n***as don't understand my shit
But they surrendering
Simmering, remembering things that, done jumped off
Lyrics spit more mucus than a, a bad cough
Messy hoes, got my name between they teeth
Just because... I'm from the West not the East
Graduated from the dope game
Fat ass wallet
What's that n***a name?
Rasheed Wallace!!
You gon' have to learn to respect your elders mayne
I'm twomp-eight n***a, ain't no need for you to record hate
Mind ya own, or ya own gon' remind you
N***a!!
The Click group biatch!
[Chorus: Big Lurch & E-40)]ecord Hatin bitches!
Suave game and snitches! (Learn about it bitch!)
We should cease you from existence (That's right)
N***as like that shouldn't be livin' (Mutha fuka!)
Ya Record Hatin bitches
(Trademark)
There's no way you could get wit this
(Stick to basketball n***a!)
We should cease you from existance
N***as like that shouldn't be livin
(Biatch!)

[Verse 2: E-40]
Got another muthafucka on my shit list
I'ma cut off his dick list
I mean my hit list
My rest in piss list
Dude that be hangin' around Nas
You know, gay baby
N***a said some negative shit about me up in a magazine called 4080
After watching "New York Undercover" while I was, takin a shit
Kool Keith was on the front cover that's when I
That's when I spotted it
That n***a AZ tried to say that I don't deserve a platinum plaque
N***a I was selling tapes out the trunk of my car
When you was running round drinking Similac
All up in yo fake ass videos (ok)
Champagne an coffin full of skrill
N***a know damn well yo punk ass ain't got had no mills
I'm payin full n***a an I'll have yo head where ever you at
I'm straight fool n***a seem like someone shoulda been an told ya
That bring the yellow tape n***a, jungle full of asphalt
Don't make no sense to talk that talk
If a n***a ain't gonna walk that walk
Zip up yo' lip before yo' lip zip you up
Biatch!
Biatch!
I gives a fuck! Biatch!
It's major pain
N***a don't know a damn thang about me
You mutha fuckas don't know nuttin bout no E-40 ho!
Monkey mouthed biatch!
Biatch!
[Chorus: Big Lurch & E-40]
Record Hatin bitches!
Suave game and snitches!
(Learn about it bitch!)
We should cease you from existance
(That's right)
N***as like that shouldn't be livin
(Shouldn't be livin.)
Ya Record Hatin bitches!
(Record Hatin bitches!)
There's no way you could get wit this
(Uh.)
We should cease you from existence
(V-Town bitch!)
N***as like that shouldn't be livin
(E'ry time)

[Verse 3: E-40]
When I first started off n***as had me fucked, muthafuckas was blind
In '89 that ol "Mr. Flamboyant" shit was way ahead of his time
Had everyone an they great grandmas off that Carlos Rossi wine
Was in a major label an business that uh didn't want us to shine
It was me an my potna from Suave House Records
Tony Draper, E-40, and The Click
8-Ball and MJG gettin that independent paper
All about my ruh-uh-rap, uh-should I shine
Beat a muthafucka uh-duh-down, e'ry time
40 get yo marbles, mayne, get yo change
Take a limousine everywhere you go and fly private planes
That's what I was tuh-uh-told by my big homie tho
You gon' always be a n***a
But a n***a ain't rich til he can't count his money no mo'
Overnight sensation, never me
All you "Record Haters" got Ph.IV
My n***as 3X Krazy laced me
Taught me how to say "fa sheezy"
Told me them AZ muthafuckas don't believe fat meat greasy
We can shoot it out, or we can fight
You and Rasheeda wanna squash the funk?
Shoot me a peace kite
Biatch!
[Chorus: Big Lurch & E-40]
Record Hatin bitches! (Record hatHn bi'tches!)
Suave game and snitches!
(Suave game and snitches!)
We should cease you from existance
(That's rich)
N***as like that shouldn't be livin
(Suck-els!)
Ya Record Hatin bitches
(Lil ol, biatch!)
There's no way you could get wit this
(That's right)
We should cease you from existence
(Learn about it)
N***as like that shouldn't be livin' (That's right)